


As You Like It

by Kaylen, PyrophobicDragon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Developing Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7350592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaylen/pseuds/Kaylen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyrophobicDragon/pseuds/PyrophobicDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Shimada Clan wants Hanzo back, and in order to get to him they attack at his weak point: Genji. Cut off from Overwatch, Hanzo must figure out what the Shimada clan wants and find where they are keeping his brother. But when the Shimada clan reveals that they will be joining the group Talon and solidifying the merger by arranging a marriage between Hanzo and the deadly Widowmaker, the situation goes from bad to worse.</p><p>To make sure Hanzo isn't killed in the process, Jesse McCree goes undercover, first on his own and then accompanied by the one and only Lena "Tracer" Oxton. But Hanzo's best chance of escape lies in a very unlikely ally: his new fiancée.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Titus Andronicus

_“Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,_  
_Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. “_  
Titus Andronicus, Act II, scene 3

“Remind me to never go on a stealth mission again, luvs. I don’t think I’m quite built for stealth.”

The plane touched down gently onto the empty field just outside of the current Overwatch headquarters. McCree chuckled at Lena’s comment, still thrumming a bit from the adrenaline rush from their mission. “You sure ain’t quiet enough for one, Lena.”

“Ignore him,” Hanzo said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over her sputtering. “Anyone can be fit for a stealth mission.” He smirked. “Except for McCree.”

“‘Hey! Watch your trap, Shimada. I’ll have you know I am a perfectly fine spy, when I set my mind to it,” McCree pouted.

Hanzo looked at him with a flatly. “We were supposed to be quiet, and you decided that the stealthiest way of dispatching a guard was to shoot your extremely loud revolver into the air. Forgive me if I sincerely doubt your skills.”

“Well it worked, didn’t it, sunshine?”

As the three of them approached the base, a burly gray shape pulled away from the darkened interior and approached them. Winston was rubbing his glasses clean, over and over again, and he cleared his throat gently as he neared. “I’m sorry, you three, but I’m afraid I- well, that is to say, I-”

“What is it, big guy?” Lena asked. “Spit it out already!”

Winston mumbled, “Well, I’m not quite sure how to break this to you-”

He was cut off by a gentle pair of hands on his shoulder. Angela gently pushed him back towards the base. “Let me handle this. I’m afraid you have the bedside manner of a baby elephant.”

Winston grumbled, but loped back towards the base. Angela faced the trio with a serious expression on her face. “Remember how Zenyatta was planning on visiting Nepal and asking some of his fellows to join our ranks?”

They nod. 

“His transport was intercepted by Talon, and he was taken hostage.” She paused and looked right at Hanzo. “Genji immediately leapt to go rescue him. He left the base two weeks ago and hasn’t been heard back from since. His communication devices are offline and his trackers have been disabled.”

Missing at best. Dead at worst. Angela looked at the three agents one at a time: Lena had her hands over her mouth. McCree was frowning, and she was sure she heard the sound of grinding teeth, but he was already turning to Hanzo, who looked…

Well. He looked completely blank. Angela knew that the brothers were still awkward and a bit cold around each other even now, but she supposed that brotherly concern never faded in the wake of a possible death. She considered stepping forward to somehow assist him, but before she could, McCree was there, taking Hanzo’s arm and guiding him towards the base. “C’mon. There’s nothing we can do until we get some rest and some intel.”

Angela watched them go, then turned back towards the last agent. “Lena…” she murmured.

Then Lena was in her arms. Not crying, but simply shaking like a leaf. “Angela, the only thing I can think about is what if they don’t come back? Or even worse, what if they do?”

She had no reply that could help at this moment, so she simply held on tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short first chapter to set the scene, but I promise the next chapters are going to be much longer! PyrophobicDragon has been a wonderful help with planning and working out the bits and pieces of this fic and this chapter was mostly written entirely by them.
> 
> I hope this fic turns out as great and thank you for reading!


	2. The Merchant of Venice

_I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano—_  
_A stage where every man must play a part,_  
_And mine a sad one._  
The Merchant of Venice, Act I, Scene 1

Instead of gathering at the kitchen table for breakfast the next morning, all Overwatch agents were asked to meet in the conference room used for briefings. Hanzo was the second to enter the room; Winston was already sitting at the head of the table, accompanied by a jar of peanut butter and his tablet. Hanzo’s stomach made a small noise in hunger, but he ignored it. He could eat breakfast after the meeting.

One by one, the other agents trickled in, some peppy and energetic, some slow and lethargic. All were carrying some form of breakfast, ranging from a piece of fruit to a full plate. Surprisingly, McCree walked in with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in one hand and a bowl of rice in the other. The mystery was immediately solved when he offered the rice to Hanzo, who accepted it with a raised eyebrow and a short bow. McCree grinned at him. “I figured you would’ve skipped getting breakfast, so I grabbed it for you.”

Once everyone was more or less settled around the table, Winston scooped up the last of his peanut butter and started. “I’m sure you’ve all heard by now that Zenyatta and Genji have gone missing, likely intercepted by Talon. We have been unable to contact or locate them.”

Unease spread around the table as Winston soldiered on. “However, last night we were contacted by none other than the Shimada clan.”

This caught Hanzo’s attention and he looked up from his rice. “The Shimada clan was scattered. They no longer have what power they had.”

Winston shrugged. “We don’t really know what’s going on with them. Stop interrupting me, because this next part concerns you.”

Hanzo settled back, scowling. Winston adjusted his glasses and continued. “This is where it gets tricky. The Shimada clan has offered a trade: they will not kill Zenyatta and Genji if they, and I quote, ‘regain custody of their heir.’”

McCree was immediately on his feet, slamming his flesh hand down on the table, making everyone’s dishes jump. “We ain’t doing this, partner,” he snarled.

Winston sighed. “Would you people stop interrupting me? We have a 48 hour time limit. This is not a decision that should be made hastily.”

“Well I’m for it,” said Soldier: 76. “The man can take care of himself, and we need the wiggle room to grab the other two.”

“I would like to point out that their promise was to ‘not kill’ Zenyatta and Genji, not release them,” Mercy replied. “If we follow through with this, what is the guarantee that they will not simply kill all three of them?”

“They do not want me dead,” Hanzo said quietly. 

“Well, do you know what they want you for?” asked Pharah.

Hanzo crossed his arms and looked away. “I...have my suspicions. Most of which are not feasible if I am dead.”

“Examples, Shimada,” said Soldier: 76 impatiently. “What would they be planning?”

Hanzo frowned. “They could want me to regain my position as heir, which is highly unlikely. Or for me to name a successor, as per tradition. They could want me to stand trial for abandoning the clan, or perhaps finish what I started and properly destroy my brother. In any case, they would very likely prefer me alive.”

“So you believe that it is better if we send you to the Shimadas?” asked Winston, making a note on his tablet. “I will take that into consideration.”

Hanzo leaned over the table. “Take into consideration, if you will, that I am determined to do whatever it takes to ensure that those two agents survive to the end of the week.”

As if that was a cue, the table erupted into debates over the pros and cons of sending Hanzo to the Shimadas. Once voice in particular rose above the rest.

“Why’re we still talkin’ about this?” huffed McCree, cutting off much of the conversation. “We are not giving Hanzo to the bastards who-”

“This is not your choice to make!” Hanzo suddenly barked, causing many of the agents to jolt in their chairs. He tried to lower his voice, but there was still an edge to it that made the others shift uncomfortably. “It is either their lives or my freedom. I have survived with that clan for a very long time. I can suffer their presence for a bit longer if it means that I do not lose my brother again.”

Silence in the room.

Winston coughed and scratched the back of his head. “Uh. Hanzo certainly makes a compelling argument-”

“I am going. I will rejoin the Shimadas. I will bow down to their orders while doing my utmost to avoid collateral damage. You will send assistance to remove Genji and Zenyatta from their custody. After that, I will escape as soon as safely possible.” Hanzo looked Winston dead in the eye. “Am I understood?”

* * *

A few hours later, Hanzo was standing at the door of a single-passenger transport, waiting patiently while Pharah ran last-minute checks. With him were Winston, who was holding the takeoff checklist, and McCree, who he had asked to see him off. He only had his communicator and various hidden trackers--he was certain that the clan would confiscate anything else he brought, and he was reluctant to lose most of his belongings. Now, there was only one thing left to do.

He unstrapped his bow and quiver from his back and turned to McCree. “Take care of these for me.”

McCree raised his brows at him, hefting the heavy equipment. “You sure about this, partner?”

He nodded. “They will take away whatever I bring with me and this bow is precious.”

He was turning away to board the transport when he was stopped by the sound of his name. “Hanzo.” McCree hesitated. “I….”

“Make it quick, I must leave soon,” Hanzo muttered.

McCree’s eyes drifted over to the transport and he nodded. “I’ll have these waiting for you when you return, yeah?”

“Yes, I should hope so.” Hanzo managed a small smile in McCree’s direction, which was returned enthusiastically. 

He boarded the transport, settling in the pilot seat. Pharah’s voice crackled over the radio. “You’re cleared for takeoff. You may leave when you are ready.”

He took a deep breath. “Understood,” he replied, before starting the engine and taking off into the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are getting longer! Still slow going but some exciting things are bound to happen soon.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Measure for Measure

_"Our doubts are traitors_  
_And make us lose the good we oft might win_  
_By fearing to attempt."_  
Measure for Measure, Act I, Scene 4

McCree knocked on the doorframe of Winston’s office, peeking in through the open door. “You called me?”

“Ah yes, come in and sit down, McCree.” Winston didn’t look up, too occupied with whatever he was doing on his computer. “I’m just, uh, looking up known associates of the Shimada clan.”

“Ah, so you decided to take me up on my offer, eh?” asked McCree knowingly, hooking a chair with his leg and dropping into it fluidly.

“Yes, and it was a good idea, to have another pair of eyes at the castle.” Winston looked up sharply. “Fair warning, however--you’re probably going to do this on your own. We simply don’t have any other agents available trained in undercover missions.”

McCree nodded thoughtfully. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad that my times in Deadlock and Blackwatch taught me something.” He saw Winston frown at the mention of Blackwatch, so he quickly changed the subject. “Now, got an idea of who I’m gonna be?”

Winston sat up a little straighter. “That’s what I was just looking at. I think our best bet would be Vishkar.”

“Vishkar, hm? Vishkar….” McCree frowned, trying to place the name. He snapped his fingers. “The same Vishkar that our resident audio medic was fighting against?”

“That very one,” Winston confirmed. “It’ll actually work perfectly, thanks to a friend in Vishkar. She did some digging, and it does appear that the Shimadas hired Vishkar for some off-the-books construction.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, continuing to speak. “She’s been very helpful--said she can pull some strings and get you a pass into the Shimada castle, as well as get you some of the equipment and uniforms. She won’t be able to teach you how to use any of the equipment, of course, but I’m sure you can experiment and figure it out. In fact, I just called in-”

“Yo, Winston, you called?”

“Talk of the Devil, and he’s presently at your elbow. Come in, Lucio.” Winston beckoned him inside. “You told me that you reverse-engineered the Vishkar tech for your own use?”

“Yep. Why, you want my notes?”

“No, no--well, yes, but not right now. We’re getting a shipment of Vishkar tech in the next few hours, and I want you to give McCree a crash course in using them. Can you do that?”

Lucio scratched the back of his head, tilting his head to the side as he considered his answer. “As long as it’s the standard stuff, yeah, I can do that. It’ll take a little bit longer if it’s, like, experimental.”

Winston shook his head. “No, it should be standard-issue.”

“Why you want me to teach McCree?” asked Lucio. “He looking to get out of that outfit or something?”

“Truer than you might imagine, kiddo,” McCree grinned. “I’m gonna infiltrate Shimada Castle.”

True to Winston’s word, a couple hours later, two large crates were being carried into the living room, where McCree and Lucio were waiting on the couches. Winston set down the first one with a sigh. “Symmetra is truly a goddess.” He turned to get the second crate from Reinhardt. “Thank you, my friend. We should be good for now.” Reinhardt grinned, nodded, and wandered off, possibly to do battle with another currywurst.

McCree, meanwhile, had hoisted himself off the couch and was tearing into one of the crates like a kid on Christmas. The inside was neatly packed, stacked, and ordered, complete with a perfectly-centered list of its contents on top. He picked up the list and read it out loud. “Three pairs of men’s standard workday uniforms, large, three pairs of men’s standard workday uniforms, medium, three pairs of men’s standard workday uniforms, small, three pairs of men’s standard casual clothes, in large, medium and small, three pairs of men’s standard sleepwear in large, medium, and small.” He frowned and looked at the crate. “I guess that explains why the crate is so large. It contains shoes, headgear, and formal wear as well, apparently.”

Lucio opened the other crate and grinned. “Dude! This is the stuff!” He picked up the list from the other crate, sending out a shower of packing peanuts. “This has three corporate hard light projectors, one diagnostics machine, one tablet, two pens and one notebook--damn, she really did think of everything, including a jail-broken communicator, so ‘you may reprogram it to connect with your own network without arousing suspicion.’” He gave a low whistle. “This mole is on fire!”

“And it all came on a auto-piloted Vishkar international transport, so we’re completely set.” Winston added. “The only thing we need is for McCree to actually use this stuff. You got this, Lucio?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen this before. Okay, let’s break it down.” He picked up one of the projectors and turned his body so that McCree could see what he was doing. “Now, this button….”

* * *

McCree stood in front of the mirror, turning his head this way and that so he could inspect his trimming. With the hair and beard cut, he looked incredibly put-together and slick. He kinda hated it, but it was a necessary evil. He cleared his throat. “Hello. My name is Sebastian Lodowick. I am the representative of Vishkar Corporation. It is a pleasure to meet you.” He sighed at the flat accent and the stiff posture, taking a minute to slouch before straightening up again and picking up his suitcase from the bed. Time to go.

As he walked down the hallways towards the backyard, he found himself feeling like a Vishkar member. One breath. One step. Back straight, eyes forward, shoulders down. Suitcase centered in his grip. He amused himself walking like that, until he turned a corner and came face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. 

He jolted out of his Vishkar state, stepping backwards so he could clearly see Morrison, Fareeha, Lena, and Winston, all with weapons at the ready. Morrison squinted at him. “McCree, what are you doing?”

“Uh, I’m going to catch my flight?” McCree replied, a bit off-put by the fact that Morrison’s gun was still pointed at his chest. “Why are y’all lurking in the hallway, and can you stop pointing your gun at me?”

Winston scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “We heard from Mei that there was a possible intruder in the building, wearing a Vishkar uniform. I guess I should have put two and two together, huh?”

Lena leaned closer. “Oooooo. With the way you walked, and that uniform, you definitely looked like someone from Vishkar. Good work!” She leaned back and frowned. “Granted, it is pretty hard to recognize you without your getup and scruffiness in the first place.”

“Thanks, kid,” McCree replied dryly.

Morrison also looked at him. Or at least he probably did--you can never tell with the visor. He may have been looking at the wall. He nodded once. “You still got it, McCree.” The Jack seal of approval.

Fareeha sighed and took off her helmet. “I’ll walk with you to the airfield and clear you for takeoff.”

“Thank you kindly, Fareeha.” McCree gave a two fingered salute to the others. “I’ll see ya’ll when I get back, hopefully with three others in tow.”

“Bye, McCree! Come back safe!” Lena waved him goodbye cheerfully. McCree nodded at her, then turned to follow Fareeha to the airfield. 

It’s showtime.

* * *

By the time the transport flew into Japanese airspace, Hanzo was stiff with tension. He tried to relax his body, roll his shoulders, but the thought of returning to the castle into the waiting arms of his former clan took up too much of his mind.

It’ll just be a month. Wait just a month, and you will be out of there. You will be fine.

The autopilot informed him that he nearing Hanamura. He nodded absently, but jumped a little when the radio crackled to life. 

“Attention. You are an unidentified non-commercial transport flying low over Hanamuran airspace. Please state your identity and intentions.”

The broadcaster proceeded to speak again in English, but Hanzo was already cutting him off in Japanese. “My name is Hanzo Shimada. My family has--” here his upper lip curled, inadvertently--”negotiated for my return. I request to be cleared for landing.”

A short pause, barely a minute, before the speaker replied. “Mr. Shimada, you are cleared for landing in airfield A.”

“Understood.” Hanzo took a deep breath, then took control of the transport, bracing himself for the landing.

The airfield was deserted when he opened the door of the plane, but the second he stepped foot onto solid ground he was swarmed by guards, but they immediately stepped aside for a man in a sharp grey suit.

“Mr. Shimada?” He gave a curt nod. The man in the suit smiled. “Welcome home.”


	4. Hamlet

_"To be, or not to be: that is the question:_  
_Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer_  
_The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,_  
_Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,_  
_And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;_  
_No more; and by a sleep to say we end_  
_The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks_  
_That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation_  
_Devoutly to be wish’d."_  
Hamlet, Act III, Scene 1

As he predicted, they ended up stripping him of everything. He was escorted by a squad of twenty people to a bath, where another squad of attendants gently but forcibly stripped him of his clothes and urged him into the water. As he was being scrubbed and rinsed, he took a moment to wonder where all these people came from. The last time he checked, the clan barely had enough power to employ a skeleton crew to maintain the castle.

He was dragged out of the bath and toweled dry. The attendants dressed him in an orange-and-white kimono before he was once again led by his guards down the hallways towards the bedrooms. He was secretly relieved when they took him to the guest rooms instead of taking him to his former bedroom. He would rather remain out of a visceral reminder of his past.

Of course, avoiding reminders was considerably difficult when he was inside his former home. Around every corner he kept getting little flashes of memories that he would prefer to not revisit.

He was firmly pushed into his room. One of the guards said, “Until the other guests arrive, you will stay in this room. There will be guards posted in front of the door and the window. You will be provided with whatever you need; however--” the guard stepped forward with something in his hand. It was a thin, open circle, almost like-- ”you will wear this collar, which will provide an electric shock whenever you do something that reflects badly on the clan.”

Hanzo instinctively stepped back, but his arms were grabbed by two other guards, who held him in place while the first guard fit the collar around his throat. He reached up to touch it but was stopped by a shock that vibrated through his entire body. The guard who put the collar on him inspected him and nodded. As if on cue, all of the guards left the room, and Hanzo was alone.

He sat on the bed and let out a deep sigh. Then he lay backwards so he could stare at the ceiling, with only one thing rushing through his mind:

He was in over his head.

* * *

McCree was not the best of pilots, but he managed to get the transport to Hanamura in good time and without crashing. When he passed low over Hanamura, the radio crackled to life, speaking first in Japanese. A pause, then the speaker continued in English: “Attention. You are identified as a Vishkar Corporation transport flying low over Hanamura. If you are here to enter Shimada Castle, you are cleared for landing.”

McCree waited for a second to ready his flat accent before answering back. “Understood. I am coming in for a landing.”

He was quite pleased when he managed to land the transport perfectly. He is greeted by three guards, one of which steps forward. “Mr. Lodowick?”

“Yes. As was communicated to you earlier, I am here to conduct tests and upgrades to your defenses.” As he spoke, McCree resisted the urge to fidget and shift. Back straight, eyes forward, shoulders down. But he couldn’t help but breathe out an imperceptible sigh of relief when the guard nodded. “If you’d like, I can take your bags.”

Oh fuck. What would Sebastian Lodowick do? “You may take the suitcase with the clothes. I will carry the box with the equipment.”

As he was lead to his room, he spent the walk inspecting the castle, the place where Hanzo grew up. The only thing he could think of was how much it looked like a museum, not a place to raise a child.

In his room, he did a cursory sweep for bugs and cameras (surprisingly, there were none) before taking out his comm and sending a quick message to Winston to let him know he had arrived safely.

He sat down on the bed. Now all he had to do was find Hanzo, find Genji and Zenyatta, and hopefully get the four of them out alive, with or without assistance from Overwatch.

Shit.

* * *

Somehow, he had fallen asleep. He only realized this when a knock on the door jolted him awake. Hanzo sat up and arranged his kimono, settling just as a guard walked in.

“The guests have arrived. The clan elders will see you now, Mr. Shimada.”

Hanzo was hustled out of his room and down the halls to the large meeting rooms. On the way there, he decided that asking a few questions couldn’t hurt, testing to see if he can get a reaction out of his entourage. “Who are these guests? Where is my brother? Why did you want me back?” he asked in rapid succession. He felt an abrupt shock, powerful enough to force him to his knees.

He did get his reaction and asking questions did hurt after all.

The door to the conference room was guarded not only by two Shimada guards but by two other people in familiar black-and-red outfits: Talon.

Inside the room was a large table. At the head sat three older men, with about twenty other people seated around the table. The people sitting on the left side of the table wore the red-and-black of Talon, while the people on the right wore the orange-and-white of the Shimadas. Standing against the walls were yet more guards, but for no, Hanzo addressed the three older men sitting at the end of the table. “So. I am back. It is good to see you again, Nakauchi, and I can see that you found two new compatriots.” He spat the last word, trying not to let his voice shake. Dammit, he was not a child anymore. He was an adult. The clan leaders couldn’t do anything to him anymore.

The one sitting in the middle rose from his seat and walked towards Hanzo. He drew his hand back and struck Hanzo across the face, before grabbing his shoulder and shaking him. “Sit down, boy, and do not speak that way in front of your betters and guests,” Nakauchi snarled, pushing him down into a chair.

The silence reigned the room as Nakauchi took his place again. Finally, he began to speak. “As we discussed, here is the heir to the Shimada clan, who will be given over to Talon custody in exchange for Talon’s support of the Shimada clan. The further details of the arrangement are in the contract, signed by all three of us.”

Nods and bows around the table. “However, as was discussed, we need a new heir to the Shimada clan. Therefore, instead of moving the heir to complete custody of Talon, we requested that Talon find a suitable candidate for marriage within your ranks.”

Hanzo felt his stomach drop at that announcement. “I was not informed of this arrangement,” he growled, but was rewarded with another electric shock. He tried not to let the pain show on his face, instead raising his chin haughtily, as if his continued silence was his choice.

The representative of Talon who was sitting closest to the three elders spoke, as if Hanzo’s outburst had not happened. “Yes. We have chosen one of our members to be the heir’s future wife. If I may present to you Charlotte Leontes?”

The door to the room opened to reveal a tall woman in a light purple catsuit. Her most shocking feature, however, was the blue tinge of her skin. Hanzo let his eyes lock with her golden ones, staring her down, refusing to be intimidated even though he knew exactly who she was.

Widowmaker would be his new fiancée.


	5. Two Gentlemen of Verona

_"To be fantastic may become a youth_  
_Of greater time than I shall show to be."_  
Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act II, Scene 7

While walking around the castle, frowning and pretending to be inspecting the various sentries Vishkar had previously set up around the castle, It was also a chance to see the place that Hanzo and Genji had called home for so many years.

The gardens were filled with cherry trees. The interior smelled of wood and incense. McCree tried to imagine a younger Genji and Hanzo running around the palace, but he couldn’t imagine two children running around such a sterile place.

Wandering by a giant bell in the courtyard, McCree stopped to tap his fingernails against it. When it didn’t produce a sound, he tried his knuckles instead. 

_BWAAAAAAANG._

Before he quite fully realized his mistake, he was already hurrying away as fast as he could without outright running. Never doing that again, he told himself.

Distracted by his folly, he walked around a corner and slammed straight into a man wearing a too-familiar black and red uniform. He almost reached for his gun before remembering that he was allowed to be here. He drew himself up and scowled at the man. “Do watch where you’re going, won’t you?”

The man looked at him up and down. “Who are you, and what is your purpose here?”

McCree drew out his forged I.D. “Sebastian Lodowick, Vishkar Corporation. Inspecting and updating the defense systems. Who are you and what is your purpose here?”

The man only responded, “I’m with Talon. Our representatives are negotiating with the Shimada clan.”

McCree only nodded at him before continuing on his way. As soon as he was alone in the hallway, he whipped out his comm and sent a quick message to Overwatch: Talon here, negotiating with Shimadas.

A half minute later, when he was waving his diagnostics device over a unobtrusive sentry, the comm beeped with an incoming message: Look for old friends.

He spends the rest of the afternoon walking around, pretending to do stuff, while looking for possible places to stash a few dangerous prisoners. He sincerely hoped Genji and Zenyatta were being held in Hanamura; it would make this mission so much easier.

Although he didn’t run into any other Talon operatives during his wanderings, he was saved by a servant approaching him and politely informing him of a formal dinner, welcoming the guests that arrived today.

He made sure to arrive early for dinner and was shown to a seat at the head table, where he had a good view of everyone in the room and the people walking in and out. In the beginning, it was mostly servants moving food here, but as seven o’clock approached more and more Shimadas entered and took their seats, as well as a few Talon grunts. When the clock hit the hour, he snapped his head up to watch the people walking in.

First came three older men, wearing orange-and-white kimonos, who took up the three center chairs at the head table. Likely the clan elders.There was a suspicious lack of Hanzo that made McCree’s stomach want to tie itself in knots. But they wouldn’t kill him yet, he was sure of that.

Next came three people wearing the red-and-black of Talon, taking places besides the clan elders. Talon representatives, most likely, although McCree didn’t spend too long looking at their faces, because with them was a tall blue-skinned woman.

Holy shit.

* * *

Dinner passed in a blur.

He was asked a few questions about how long he’d be staying, if he’d found anything that needed reporting, but he barely remembered answering them. Never had he been so glad to escape the dining room and go back to his room for the night. The second his door closed, he had his comm out and was typing away.

┎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┒  
Widowmaker’s here. Don’t know why.  
┖━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┚

The reply was near instantaneous.

┎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┒  
Do you need backup?  
  
Actually, bad question.  
We are sending you backup.  
Send you details in a few hours.  
Sit tight, don’t catch her attention.  
┖━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┚

* * *

“Okay, team.” Winston surveyed the seated agents, minus four of their number. “Widow’s at Shimada Castle, and if she corners McCree, I’m not sure how he’d be able to hold up without his Peacekeeper.

“So we’re sending him backup. Now, we arrive to who.”

Jack spoke up. “We can automatically remove Torbjorn. He’s too short and recognizable, unless he was willing to shave.”

Zarya raised her hand. “My English is not good enough to pretend otherwise.”

Angela said, with an apologetic smile, “I won’t be much help in a fight against anyone.”

Lucio and Hana were eliminated for being too famous. Reinhardt, for being too tall. Jack refused to go anywhere without his mask, and Mei wasn’t confident enough in her acting ability. Winston was not the most subtle being here.

That left Fareeha and Tracer. “I’m the only here besides Winston who has experience fighting against Widow,” Lena pointed out. “Plus, I did run a few undercover missions for Overwatch, so I’m not completely clueless.”

Winston frowned. “Good point, Lena. Any in, uhh, disfavor of allowing Lena to go undercover with McCree?”

No one protested, so Winston nodded. “Any ideas of what she could go undercover as?”

Lucio spoke up. “We still have some Vishkar uniforms; the mole sent us, like, three in every size.”

“Okay! Let’s try ‘em on for size!”

* * *

Before testing the uniforms, Lena ran to her room to fish out her “civvy” chronal accelerator: it fit on her wrist and looked and functioned like a wristwatch. She didn’t like it that much, because it didn’t let her zap through time like her normal one does, and she’s too reliant on being able to skip forwards and backwards to give it up for convenience. For this mission, however, she’d have to use the small one.

When she got to the storeroom where Winston and Jack were waiting, she was immediately greeted by Jack barking, “Lena, speak in a masculine voice.”

She immediately did as she was told. “Uhh, hello, Soldier: 76. I’m a, uhh, representative of Vishkar.”

Jack nodded. “It’ll do. Cut out the uhhs, though.”

“O-kay, what was that for?”

Winston sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “The Vishkar uniforms come in male and female versions. We only have the male sort here.”

Lena considered it for a long moment. On one hand, she’d have to be very careful when speaking. On the other hand, it’d add another layer to her disguise. On the third hand, she’d still have to be deliberate when speaking as a Vishkar member, so she can take the time to deepen her voice. “It should be manageable. I’ll do it.”

Winston smiled at her. Jack could have been smiling too, but he has his visor on, so she couldn’t tell. “Excellent! I’ll message McCree and let him know what’s going on.”

In the end, they decided that Lena would be Sebastian Lodowick’s son and trainee, Stephan Lodowick. (“Winston, are you a Shakespeare nut?” “Uh. Well. Uh. Yes?”) They got a message from McCree about an hour later: Got permission for Stephan to come here. Sending Vishkar transport back on autopilot.

When the transport arrived, Lena was packed and ready to go, utterly uncomfortable in her uniform with her hair trimmed and slicked down. Before getting on the transport, she turned and waved goodbye. “See ya! I promise I’ll return in one piece!” Then the door closed behind her and she settled into the pilot’s chair, setting course back to Hanamura.


	6. Othello

_"Virtue? A fig! 'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or_  
_thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our_  
_wills are gardeners. So that if we will plant nettles_  
_or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme,_  
_supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it_  
_with many, either to have it sterile with idleness or_  
_manured with industry, why the power and corrigible_  
_authority of this lies in our wills."_  
Othello, Act I, Scene 3

Hanzo lay on his bed, eyes closed, perfectly motionless. An outside observer would assume he was sleeping, or perhaps meditating, but his mind was racing.

After the announcement that he was to be married to Widowmaker, he had immediately stood and started yelling at the elders in rapid Japanese. A prolonged and painful stream of electricity had shut him up. He knew he should have controlled himself better, perhaps stayed silent and listened more closely to their plans, but being back in his home and the literal slap in the face had gotten him off-balance in general. He was reminded a bit too much of his youth, and he wanted to do something to prove to himself that he wasn’t a scared, helpless child anymore. 

It was not, admittedly, his brightest moment, especially since it had gotten him banished to his room for the rest of the evening.

The door creaked open and light footsteps slipped inside, shutting the door again. “Hello, Mr. Shimada. I know you’re not asleep,” a sultry, French-accented voice said, and he knew without looking that it was his new fiancee.

His instinct told him to bolt up and get into a defensive position immediately, but he forced himself to open his eyes and sit up slowly, stretching languidly up towards the ceiling, as if he was the one with the power in this room. “Greetings, Ms. Leontes. Or should I say--” here he stood up, narrowing his eyes at her-- ”Widowmaker?”

The woman tilted her head at him. “So my reputation precedes me. What a shame. You are with Overwatch, I believe?”

“My reputation precedes me,” Hanzo echoed.

Widowmaker looked around. She stepped closer and Hanzo took a step back. “Mr. Shimada. I have disabled all of the bugs and video cameras in this room. As long as we speak quietly, the guards outside cannot hear us. So please speak freely, because I need to know--” her shoulders hitch, and Hanzo realizes this is the first involuntary movement he has every seen her make-- “Is everyone alright?”

Hanzo gapes at her. Of all the question he expected, this was definitely not one of them. “Is who alright?”

Widow gestures, and he noticed it was borderline frantic. Her behavior was getting stranger and stranger. “Everyone. Jack and Gabe. Winston. Lena. Jesse. Angela, Reinhardt, Torbjorn, Genji and Ana. I need to know--” She gulps down almost a sob, and Hanzo has the distant, slightly hysterical thought that he has no idea what to do with a crying assassin-- “I need to know that I haven’t hurt any of them. Not the way that I hurt-- that I hurt--”

Hanzo snaps out of his confusion and forces himself to think logically. “Why would Widowmaker want to know?”

“Because I’m not Widowmaker anymore!” She hisses, almost sounding angry. “Widowmaker--they didn’t do a good job of making sure she stuck. She faded. She’s gone. I’m,” She sighs and looks at him beseechingly. “You have to believe me. I’m Amelie again. I swear.”

“You could just be a very good actor,” Hanzo points out. He’s admittedly starting to be convinced--in her file, Winston mentioned that Widowmaker was not the best at faking emotions, which is why she’s never sent on covert operations--but he’s still not quite ready enough to drop his guard. Like she mentioned, her reputation precedes her.

Widowmaker takes a deep breath, but nods. “I actually expected you to ask me that. Look, I have my proof. Just--don’t freak out, alright?” Before he could press her on that not-particularly reassuring statement, she was holding her shoulder pad and yanking it off, dropping it on the floor, before grabbing her collar and pulling down the left side of her catsuit.

Hanzo immediately turned around on instinct, hoping that his cheeks weren’t red, and Widowmaker sighed loudly. “I told you not to freak out! Turn back around, I’m showing you my proof.”

That’s an odd name for it, a voice that sounded suspiciously like McCree rang out in his head. He scowled at the imaginary McCree and turned back to face Widowmaker again, keeping his eyes on her face. She had a matching scowl on. “Don’t be a hypocrite. You walk around with your tit hanging out all day, too.”

He really had no rebuttal for that, so he said nothing. Instead, he chanced a peek at her chest, where his eye was immediately caught by a patch of peach color right over her heart. “Is that--?”

“Yes.” Widowmaker pulled back up her catsuit, speaking rapidly. “I started regaining things. I started feeling again. I started to remember things--mostly from before Widowmaker was created, but I’m slowly starting to remember the things Widowmaker did too. And my heart is starting to beat normally again, so my skin is peaching.” The look of distress on her face was not one he’d ever expect to see from Widowmaker. She clasped her hands together. “Please. You have to believe me. I want to help you, and I want you to help me. Please.”

“I believe you.” And, much to his surprise, he did. Yes, it could have been a very elaborate hoax to get him to lower his guard, but much of the evidence was in her favor, and so he decided to trust her for now. He suddenly remembered her earlier question, and abruptly changed the topic. “Most of them are well. Winston is leading the new Overwatch, and much of the old Overwatch has joined with him.” He hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to break the news to her right this moment. In the end, he decided that she’d probably want to know. “Amari’s daughter works with Overwatch now, but Amari herself, Morrison, Reyes...I’ve never met them.”

“Oh.” As he watched, Widowmaker--no, Amelie--looked at her feet and sniffed a little.. “At least--I didn’t kill the others. They’re still alive, and okay.” Hanzo hesitated for a long second, but stepped forward and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. She gave him a watery smile in return. “Thank you for telling me. And for believing me.”

“It is no trouble.” He felt callous saying this out of the blue, but he needed to ask. “What do you know about this arrangement?”

He was mildly impressed when Amelie managed to pull herself together enough to answer. “The Shimada clan wants their power back, so they arranged to give you up to Talon.” Hanzo made a vague affirmative noise. He remembered this part from the meeting.

“Talon wants you because of your clan’s powers, and they wanted you over your brother because they figured you would be--and I’m sorry for saying this--more corruptible.”

Here he held up a hand to interrupt her. “Corruptible?”

Amelie grimaced. “I’m not aware of the details, but willing targets are much more susceptible to the sort of reconditioning that all of their soldiers are put through. Which brings me to my next point.

“Talon wants me to seduce you.” Something in his expression makes her giggle. “I feel that, Hanzo.” She stopped smiling as she continued, “If they think you’ll be resistant to the reconditioning, things are not going to be good for you, Hanzo. They’ll definitely try to start sooner rather than later, and I’m afraid you might end up attending our wedding,” she pauses, searching for a good word to use, but decides on, “broken.”

“Torture, then,” he says flatly. “They will start torturing me if they believe I’ll cause trouble for them later along the line.”

Amelie nodded. “Since we would both prefer it if you could retain your senses for as long as you can, you’ll have to act like you’re willing to be persuaded by Talon. Is that--can you do that?”

“It will not be very believable if I’m suddenly willing to listen to whatever Talon is telling me. I am, after all, a part of Overwatch,” Hanzo pointed out, frowning. He steps away from her and starts pacing the room. He needs to think of a way to show Talon he is willing to be corrupted, but not that he is immediately persuaded. He ran through a hundred different scenarios in his head, debating a mix of believable, easy to act, logical…. He stopped. Turned to face Amelie. “I can’t think of a better alternative. It will be uncomfortable, but it will probably be the best possible cover story.”

Amelie nodded, but he noticed her face became a slightest bit paler. “I can do uncomfortable. I mean, I can pretend to be comfortable.”

Hanzo smirks at her. “You’re a very lovely lady. Very beautiful, smart, capable. The fact that you work for Talon is almost a, ah, deal-breaker, but with a bit of lying you can convince me that you’re better than them. You’re supposed to seduce me? We’ll say it worked.”

Amelie’s smile, in return, wasn’t a pretty one. She slips over to his side and places both hands on his shoulder. “Hanzo, mon cher, this is the start of a beautiful relationship.”

* * *

Tracer arrives sometime in the night. McCree greets her with both formality and with affection, and she responds in kind. He takes her and introduces her to the elders before turning in for the night.

The next day, McCree continues his usual routine of pretending to be useful while Tracer alternates between shadowing him and slipping away to flirt with the maids and eavesdrop on the guards.

Just before lunchtime, Tracer walks up to him, glances both ways to make sure they’re alone, and hisses, “Hanzo’s getting married.”

Jesse drops everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been leaving kudos and comments on this fic! It means so much to Pyro and I when we see just how much everyone is enjoying the story.
> 
> A special thank you and shoutout to @kino from the mchanzo discord chat for making the [first fanart](http://dankwulflord.tumblr.com/post/147118853332/mmmm-collars-my-secret-life-is) for As You Like It! Collared Hanzo is so good.


	7. Chapter 7

“He’s getting married?”

 

“Not so loud!” Tracer hissed, shooting a glance around the hall. McCree was looking at her with wide eyes, which struck at odds with his wrinkle-free Vishkar uniform. “That’s what one of the maids told me, yes.”

 

“He’s getting married.” McCree repeated. His eyes were glazed over oddly, and he had this dumbfounded look on his face. Tracer wondered why he seemed so struck by this. “Why on earth is he getting married?”

 

Tracer waved her hands in front of his face, praying that no one would enter the hall until she could snap out of his fugue. “Earth to McCree! Get yourself together!”

 

“He’s getting married!” McCree suddenly shook himself and looked her dead in the eye. “Who’s he getting married to?”

 

“I don’t know!” Tracer moved to run her hand through her hair in exasperation, but stopped before she could ruin her Vishkar-approved ‘do. “Why are you so hung up on the marriage thing?”

 

“Because it’s Hanzo!” McCree turned and started pacing the hall. “It’s ‘cuz he-- he’s all aloof and cool and stuff, and he’s so-- I dunno-- he’s so--”

 

“Oh my god.” Tracer cut off his ramblings. He stopped and looked at her quizzically. Her face widened into a shit-eating grin. “You like him, don’tcha? You’re jealous?”

 

“No I’m not!”

 

“You totally are!”

 

“We ain’t doing this now.”

 

“You started it. But yeah, we can talk about this later.”

 

McCree sighed and ran his hands up and down his face. “What else did you get from the maids?” Besides the fact that Hanzo’s getting married, a corner of his brain added. Yes, he was weirdly hung up on this, but it was perfectly normal to be upset that your friend was getting hitched.

 

“Nothing else of interest. Besides,” glancing at the clock, Tracer did some quick counting, “we have to get to lunch, and after that we’ll have six-ish hours to explore the parts of the castle we didn’t to.”

 

Once again, Hanzo was conspicuously absent from lunch. McCree tried not to worry too hard about that, or at least not show it outwardly.

 

After their meal, McCree and Tracer continued their sweep of the castle. Strolling down one hallway indistinguishable from the rest, Tracer leaned in closer to whisper, “Don’t look now, but there’s guards in the entrance to that one particular staircase down.”

 

McCree took out his weird Vishkar machine, pretending to look at the blueprints loaded into it while chancing a glance to the side. Sure enough, there were two Shimada guards standing at the end of a small hallway, blocking a set of stairs. “Worth a shot.”

 

Simultaneously, they both turned on their heels and strode towards the guards. Without even glancing at either of the people, McCree pulled out his identification, waved it in their general direction, and continued walking like he owned the place. Behind him, he could hear Tracer trotting obediently behind him, as well as a third set of footsteps--apparently, the guards were reluctant to let them into this place alone, but were willing to let them enter. Might cause some problems later, but it works for now.

 

The staircase went down and down, finally opening into a hallway that looked identical to the guest room hallway, only here, the doors were replaced with hard-light constructs. So that’s why the guard wasn’t surprised about their desire to enter.

 

Between the two of them, they did a quick inspection of each of the doors. The hard-light was slightly transparent, so it was easy to see a certain cyborg and an omnic residing in two of the cells in the middle of the hall.

 

Bingo.

 

McCree turned to one of the guards. “These doors will require a more maintenance than the usual sentries that are stationed around the castle. We will be back to do a more thorough diagnosis. Is that acceptable?”

 

The guard didn’t do much but shrug, so he took that as a yes.

 

He gave the man a sharp nod and then jerks his head at Tracer. Together, they walk away from their imprisoned comrades and back up the stairs.

 

In the safety of their room, Tracer holds out her hand, and McCree obliges her with a high-five. “Found them, love.”

 

McCree sinks down onto the bed and breathes out. “We found them. So all we need to do is let them know we’re here, let Hanzo know we found them, break them out of their cell, retrieve Hanzo, and escape.”

 

He looks at Tracer. Tracer looks at him. They both sigh.

 

***

 

At dinner, McCree feels Tracer tap his leg. When he looks at her, she jerks her chin at the head table. He glances over to see what she noticed, and instantly sees: there’s an extra chair. Hope blooms in his chest. He can finally see Hanzo.

 

As usual, the doors behind the head table open and the clan elders enter, followed by the Talon representatives. This time, however, Widowmaker does not enter alone. Right behind her is Hanzo, looking a bit worse for wear. He’s wearing a kimono, his hair is down, and he has a thin collar around his neck.

 

But what stands out the most to McCree is the fact that he’s holding hands with Widowmaker.

 

He’s staring. He knows. And he knows he can’t, that it’ll break his cover. But he can’t quite tear his eyes away from where Hanzo’s and Widowmaker’s hands are entwined. And Hanzo doesn’t look disgusted, or stiff, or anything. He looks--pretty normal.

 

He feels a sharp pinch on his thigh. He shoots Tracer a look, who widens her eyes at him in a clear  _ w-t-f _ way. At the head table, one of the elders stand up and clears his throat. He speaks in Japanese, and besides them, a woman turns and quietly translates. “I am pleased to announce the return of the heir to the folds of the Shimada clan. And this happy occasion is marked with another pleasant announcement: we have found a suitable partner for our heir.

 

If I may introduce the future wife of Shimada Hanzo and the future matriarch of our clan, Charlotte Leontes. May their union ensure a long partnership between her group, Talon, and the Shimada empire.”

 

This time, neither McCree nor Tracer can hide their alarmed faces.

 

***

 

“Miss Leontes.”

 

“Monsieur Shimada.”

 

Hanzo offers her a bow. “If I may, I would like to escort you back to your room. If, of course, your chaperones won’t mind.”

 

The Talon guard looks at them, then gives her a sharp nod. She bows back. “It would please me greatly, Monsieur. But, please, I insist, call me Charlotte.” She tries not to cringe as she adds, “We are, after all, set to be married.”

 

Hanzo smiles at her, and she wonders if she is the only one who can see how tense it is. “Only if you call me Hanzo.” He offers her his arm, and she tries not to giggle at the absurdity of the situation as she takes it.

 

The second they’re out of the dining room, Hanzo leans closer to her. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and his words are stiff and tense. “We will need to find a way to contact Overwatch. I know of a way we can leave the premises and the country, but the process of getting there is too risky, especially since if they closely monitor us.”

 

Amelie tries to concentrate on maintaining her cool expression. She was never a very good actor, but she did do ballet, where facial expressions are key. “Don’t smile so much. It’s unsettling on you. And you must contribute all knowledge of the layout--I have not been anywhere but my room, your room, and the meeting room.”

 

Hanzo nods, and his smile fades a little. As they turn a corner, he glances past her head and instantly stiffens. He turns his head to hiss into her ear, “Don’t look now. We’re being followed. Vishkar employees, a tall man and a considerably shorter, younger one.”

 

It takes more effort than she’d like to admit to not turn around. She tries to stay relaxed as she fruitlessly wonders, “Why are they following us?”

 

Hanzo must have taken her rhetorical question as an actual one. He replies tersely, still speaking into her ear like a lover sharing a secret. “Unsure. They were at dinner. They look familiar to me, but am unsure why.”

 

She tries not to groan out loud. Too many unknowns. She’s in over her head. “I don’t think we can lose them without looking suspicious.”

 

He hums in agreement. As they continue to walk steadily down the hall, he suddenly gestures at a shiny metal vase and murmurs, “Look at the reflection.”

 

She pauses to look at the vase and cocks her head. She can see a dot of the purple and white of Vishkar, although she can’t make out faces. “How fascinating.”

 

As they continue on their way, she quietly tells him, “I couldn’t see anything but a blur. That didn’t help me at all, frankly.” He simply huffs, then lapses into silence. He’s obviously thinking, so she leaves him to it and tries to hear footsteps. He finally speaks again. 

 

“Do you have anything to offer?”

 

She can’t quite stop her scandalized look. “What?”

 

Hanzo snorts inelegantly. “In your room. Invite me in for a drink, or coffee, or tea. We need to plan, and we can’t do that with a tail.”

 

She tries to think as Hanzo leads her around the very last turn to her room and stops outside her door. He bows and talks a little louder than the quiet murmur he’s been speaking in. “Good evening, Charlotte.”

 

When he turns to leave, she stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you come in for a drink, before you go to bed?” She tries not to think about how awkward that sounded. She hasn’t done this in literal years.

 

Hanzo inclines his head. “I will graciously accept.”

 

She opens the door to her room, and they step inside together. Once the door is shut and locked, they breathe a simultaneous sigh of relief.

  
Outside the locked door, McCree and Tracer give a simultaneous sigh of frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Pyro here, just letting you know this fic is not dead! Sorry about the wait, I'm a very slow writer and the chapter wasn't coming together for me. This is a bit of a rush job--I just wanted to get it out there for you lot, so I'll probably go back later and make the chapter title, the header, rewrite some bits, etc.


	8. The Tempest

The next morning, Hanzo opens his eyes, blinking hazily at the ceiling. He’s on the floor, which isn’t unusual, but instead of being on a futon, he’s just lying on a woven mat. Did he roll off his bed in the night? Impossible, he was a very still sleeper….

 

He sits up and looks around. The first thing he notices is the western-style bed. The second thing he notices is the purple woman sitting on it. Amelie smiles a bit shakily at him. “Good morning, Hanzo.”

 

It comes flooding back to him: talking late into the night about escape routes, how to contact Overwatch, potential people in the castle who would be willing to help them out. Somewhere along the line, he had gotten tired, and instead of heading back to his room, he decided to take a quick nap. His eyes widen. “What time is it?”

 

She frowns at him. “Just after 5 in the morning.”

 

“Did no one come looking?” He shoots to a standing position and tries to straighten his clothes, mind racing. How did they not realize he never went back to his room? Why didn’t they come searching for him? Or at least use the shock collar?

 

Amelie shakes her head. “If they did, they came when I was asleep.”

 

“I need to go now.” He’s panicking a little, he can feel his heart racing, so he tries to take a deep breath and think. “If I can, I’ll come escort you to breakfast.” She nods at him, and he opens the door and walks right into the Shimada guard standing outside.

 

The guard beckons him and walks off. He glances back, where Charlotte is wearing her usual cold expression, but he can see Amelie’s eyes subtly widening.

 

This time, only Nakauchi is waiting. The other two must be asleep. Or something. Nakauchi scowls at him. “You did not return to your bedroom last night.”

 

Hanzo only says, “You did not send people to search for me.”

 

Nakauchi scoffs. “The audio and video feeds to Leontes’ room was cut last night. It does not take much of imagination to figure what was going on in there.” 

 

Hanzo could almost collapse with relief. They thought they were sleeping together. They still didn’t suspect. He tries to stay haughty and upright, fighting to keep his relief off his face. “She is my fiancee. I would infinitely prefer to marry someone I know well.”

 

Nakauchi wrinkles his nose. “At least you are working through your perversions with her.”

 

For some reason, that gets Hanzo fired up, and he shoots back, “I see. It is perverse when I fall in love with a man, but it is fine when you--”

 

He hits the ground. He can’t even draw the air into his lungs to scream as his body seizes and shakes. Above him, Nakauchi scowls. “You are insolent, boy. Remember your place.”

 

The pain stops, but the aftershocks continue to rage through his body, making him gasp and twitch, as Nakauchi steps over him and walks out the door.

 

He has to lay there for a while, trying to breathe, before sitting up cautiously. He’s sore all over, and his legs wobble when he stands up. He staggers to the door and out, making his way back to the bedrooms.

 

He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, because he finds himself lying on the floor again, staring up at Amelie, who looks very concerned. “-anzo? Can you hear me? What happened?”

 

“I am well,” he mutters, blinking at the ceiling and her scowl.

 

“You are obviously not. What happened?”

 

He closes his eyes, hoping that if he stops looking, he can stop feeling. “They believe that we slept together. That is good. Nakauchi called my interests perverse. I countered, he punished me.”

 

He can hear cloth shifting as Amelie moves. “So they do not suspect we are collaborating. That is good.” She paused, parsing the second half of his recounting. “Interests?”

 

Usually, he’d brush her off or avoid the question, but he is too tired and his brain feels fried, literally and figuratively. He doesn’t feel like playing coy right now. “I have...no interest in women.” He hastily adds, “I had minimal interest in partners in general.” A bit too hastily. He cringes and hopes she doesn’t notice the operative word.

 

“No wonder why you were so flustered when I attempted to remove my suit,” Amelie muses. He breathes out, hoping she wouldn’t push him further. A hope that was dashed almost immediately. “Had, you say?”

 

“It is none of your concern.”

 

“...I suppose you are correct.”

 

They lapse into awkward silence, as Hanzo tries to breathe through the pain and Amelie tries to not disturb him too much. Finally, the feeling receded enough for him to sit up cautiously. She asks, “Are you okay?”

 

“I am well.”

 

“Tell me the truth.”

 

“...no.”

 

“No to telling me the truth, or no to being okay?”

 

Instead of answering, Hanzo stretches his sore limbs and says quietly, “I am back in my family’s home, with no knowledge of where my brother could be. If I cannot escape, I will likely be tortured and brainwashed. I have no method of contacting backup, and my current avenues of escape are dependent on memories ten years old. Also, I’m getting married.”

 

Amelie blinks at him. He blinks back at her. Then he nearly cries out in shock when her arms envelope him, and he realizes she’s hugging him. A bit awkwardly, since they’re both sitting on the floor and they’re both utterly unpracticed at hugging, and her skin is cold and getting touched hurts a little but it’s a form of comfort he hasn’t had in far too long.

 

He tentatively brings up his arms as well and wraps them around her back. She’s starting to shake, but he’s uncertain whether it’s her or him or both of them. She says, painfully quietly, “We’re in over our heads.”

 

“...yes.” There was no denying it. Two people, closely watched, in the den of the enemy, crawling with both Shimada and Talon members, with no way to contact their allies. He adds, “But we will have to make it. There is no other option.”

 

She draws back a little so he can see her smile. It’s not a happy smile. “Yes. We will.”

 

They sit on the floor for a long while, thinking about their next move.

 

***

 

After lunch, Charlotte asks Hanzo to show her around the castle. Hanzo opens his mouth and feels a mild shock, barely a sting after what he experienced earlier in the day. He shoots a glare at the guards following him before bowing and accepting.

 

They walk around the grounds, arm-in-arm. She gestures at the cherry trees while she asks, quietly, “Are we being tailed?”

 

Hanzo gently steers her towards the giant bell, inspecting it. “Yes. The Vishkar from yesterday, along with two Talon guards and two Shimada guards.”

 

She sighs. They figured there was no way they were getting near anywhere they could contact the outside world, but she didn’t think they would be tailed by that many people. “Is there any way you can leave the grounds?”

 

He shakes his head. “Not without ten people following me. Can you?”

 

“No. It will be too unusual for Widowmaker to ask to leave the grounds.”

 

Hanzo groans in frustration. She grimaces. He growls, “So unless Overwatch figures out a way to contact us, we’re completely, utterly fucked. Wonderful.”

 

She hesitates, then disengaged her arm from his to wrap it around his shoulders. She’s slightly taller than he is, which would be a source of great amusement to her if they weren’t in such a dire situation, but it just makes it easier to hug him. She tries to make it as stiff as possible for the Talon agents watching, and hopes that Hanzo understands the gesture.

 

If the way he looks at her is any indication, he does. She tries to smile in Widowmaker’s way, and he gives her a small smile back that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “If you’d like, I requested tea to be sent up to my room.”

 

She nods. “That sounds delightful, Hanzo.”

 

They turn to go back inside.

 

And walk right past their Vishkar tails, who’re inspecting the walls of the room housing the bell as if it contained some great secret. She wonders who they think they’re fooling. She also wonders why they’re tailing them. Why would Vishkar have interest in them?

 

As they walk past, she notices the older one glaring at her and the younger staring at her unabashedly. Internally, she rolls her eyes. Young men and their obsession with breasts.

 

***

 

Back in the rooms assigned to the Vishkar employees, McCree does his automatic search for bugs or video cameras while Tracer flops back onto the bed, sighing. “How’re we going to get Hanzo alone? He’s always tailed by those Talon and Shimada mooks, not to mention Widowmaker.”

 

McCree scowls at thin air. “He knows she’s evil. Why is he still letting her hang off him like that?” he grumps.

 

Tracer rolls over onto her belly. “We-ell, she is pretty hot.”

 

McCree rolls his eyes. “Really? It’s Widowmaker.”

 

She raises her hands defensively, quick to grin. “Hey! I have eyes.” She sobers up a little. “ And in all seriousness, I guess a bit of it is that I still think she’s Amelie. She was an amazing person. Before, I mean.” She rolls back over onto her back. “I know she’s not anymore, but I can’t help but look at her and think, ‘Oh, there’s Amelie, she’s great.’ I have that association, y’know? If only Hanzo could’ve met her….”

 

McCree’s head whips around to stare at her. He looks dumbfounded. She lifts her head to look back. “Wot?”

 

“You...you were in love with Amelie?”

 

She tries to stop her flush. “I never said that!”

 

“You were in love with Amelie,” McCree repeats.

 

“I--” There was really nothing she could say. Her shoulders slump a little. “She was married. Gerald was a great guy.”

 

The room fills with silence as McCree tries to process what he just realized. Then he suddenly cringes. “Lena, I am so sorry,” McCree says quietly. She shakes her head.

 

“I know. I know it was hopeless from the beginning.” She tries to grin at him, tries to shake off her sorrows and what-ifs. “But as for you….”

 

“We’re not talking about this.” His scowl is back.

 

“You and Hanzo, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another non-proofread, non-prettied-up chapter! Ah well. I'll edit these someday....At least this one has a title.


	9. Chapter 9

“Look, I don’t even know if he’s interested in men, alright?”

 

McCree paces the room restlessly. “I don’t even know if he’s interested in anyone, really. He’s just so--”

 

“Cool, neat, awesome, aloof? Yeah, you’ve mentioned.”

 

“Don’t sass me, partner.”

 

Lena rolls her eyes. “You oughta tell him, love. Take it from me: you never know when your possibilities turn to regrets.” She frowns. “That sounded better in my head.”

 

“I get it, I get it,” sighs Jesse. “First things first, we need to get out of this hellhole.”

 

The sheets rustle as Lena hops up from where she’s sitting on the bed. She moves closer, getting up in Jesse’s face, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t try to change the subject, love. We’ve talked about plans a thousand times already.”

Jesse scoffs. “As if talking about Hanzo will get him out of here any faster?”

 

“Well, it’ll stop us from ripping our hair out with cabin fever.” Lena shrugs. “Go on then, love. I know you want to gush.”

 

“There’s nothing to say, all right? I like him, yeah, but he’s never--he’s my friend.” Jesse can feel his neck heating up. He tries to will the blush away, but to no avail.

 

Lena backs away a little, softening. “If he’s your friend, he won’t dump you over a little crush. It might be awkward, yeah, but you’ll feel better having told him.”

 

Jesse’s response is to groan.

 

They both immediately straighten up and turn when someone knocks on the door. McCree nods at Tracer, who strides towards the door and opens it. A short conversation later, the door closes again and Tracer returns. “We’re going to a play.”

 

***

 

Amelie is looking in a mirror when the door opens. She glances up and relaxes when Hanzo steps into the room. He looks sharp in his suit, albeit pissed off. But that was mostly default for him.

 

He walks over and heaves a sigh. “I like your dress.” It’s a slinky red thing, a bit shiny. Widowmaker could pull it off without a thought. Amelie just felt uncomfortable. 

 

“Do you know what play it is?” She murmurs, turning her head this way and that to inspect her jewelry.

 

“Some Shakespeare number.”

 

She hums, and they sigh in unison. She giggles a little at the coincidence, and when she looks at Hanzo through the mirror he’s half-smiling. She turns on her heel and gives him a hug, which he stiffly accepts. “We’ll be okay.”

 

He nods. Neither of them believe her.

 

***

 

The play is okay. The actors aren’t the best, in Hanzo’s opinion, but they’re fairly passable for a troupe doing an English-language play in Japanese. He amuses himself by watching the other patrons. Amelie had adopted a glazed-over look somewhere along the line, and he supposes when one takes an English play, translates it into Japanese, and presents it to a French woman, it’s a bit difficult to stay engaged.

 

Intermission brings a breath of fresh air. He snags two glasses of champagne, ignoring a glare and silent reproach-- _ do not get overly drunk and do something foolish _ . He can hold his liquor. 

 

Next to him, Amelie is attempting to stifle a yawn by hiding it in her glass. 

 

He surveys the room. It’s a very western-style party, and he’s not sure how he feels about that. The suit is constricting, after so many years wearing his comfortable traditional clothing or things designed for comfort and anonymity when out and about.

 

He takes Amelie’s arm and guides her away from the elders, who’re talking about him and his disappearance literally right next to him. If he’s subjected to bad alcohol and mediocre plays, he shouldn’t have to deal with family criticizing his life choices. 

 

Amelie adopts a small half-smile and leans over to whisper in his ear. “The Vishkar employees have been tracking us this entire time. Even though the Shimada and Talon left us alone, mostly.”

 

They exchange a glance. 

 

Hanzo glances about, doing his best not to visibly move his head, then turns them around, so they’re walking towards the refreshment table. Passing by the two Vishkar, he deliberately maneuvers them so Amelie’s arm bumps into the younger’s.

 

Spilling champagne all over her expensive red dress.

 

To her credit, Amelie is a greater actor than the ones they just saw. She looks down at the wet stain along the front of her dress, and slowly looks up at the two Vishkar, who have both adopted twin looks of horror. Her expression doesn’t change as she looks at them. The room seems to hold a collective breath, waiting for Widowmaker to make her move.

 

Hanzo is the one who breaks the silence. He takes her arm. “Ms. Leontes. It is best if we attempt the clean the stain early.” He looks at the Vishkar, scowling. “You, boy. Come along as well.”

 

He tugs Amelie towards the bathroom. He can hear footsteps as the Vishkar follow.

 

In the bathroom, he gestures the two employees in first, then Amelie, then shuts and locks the door behind him. In one quick motion, he slams the top of the glass he’s still holding against the wall and whirls, brandishing the now-jagged edges. As far as weapons go, he’s fought with worse. “Why have you been tracking us?”

 

Besides them, Amelie clumsily follows his move. Despite having to hit the glass a few times to make it shatter, her stance is good, and he guesses that it’s a vestige from her Widowmaker...training. Across the way, the two men draw weapons, and Hanzo internally curses. A makeshift knife in a gun fight would not usually be a problem for him, but he’s not sure how Amelie would be able to hold up.

 

While he’s mentally calculating their chances, the older gruffly growls, “Widowmaker, out. Steph, follow her, make sure she doesn’t go for help.”

 

They can’t hide their panicked glances. The younger--Steph?--steps forward, gun pointed at Amelie. “Come on, let’s step out.” He’s not looking at her face.

 

When the door shuts behind the two, Hanzo watches the remaining one warily. His eyes widen in shock as the man somehow does a fully-body relax and lowers his gun. “Hanzo. It’s me.” His voice had changed into a very familiar accent….

 

McCree makes a surprised “Oof!” when Hanzo steps forward and wraps his arms around him.

 

McCree awkwardly pats Hanzo’s back. “The other’s Tracer. We’re here, we found Genji and Zenyatta, we just gotta get you and contact Overwatch. We’ll be okay….” He’s babbling, but he doesn’t know what to do when Hanzo’s this close.

 

Hanzo just buries his face into the front of Jesse’s suit. He’s shaking a little, he knows, the stress of the last...however long it’s been finally getting to him. But it’s okay, here. He doesn’t need to keep up the pretense.

 

They stay like that for a long while. Jesse, to his credit, stays completely silent, just rubbing Hanzo’s back.

 

Hanzo only allows himself a minute of weakness before he lets his training take over. He draws back and speaks, low and urgent. “Resources. Escape plans. Methods of contact. I have information for you, too, but you go first.”

 

McCree’s face hardens as well, and Hanzo’s reminded of how deadly this man was, how much experience he’s had. “It’s us, with solid disguises and quite a few spare bits loaned by Vishkar. We know where Genji and Zenyatta are. We can contact Overwatch. We’re probably gonna try to get Genji and Zenyatta out first, then extract you. Can you hold it together?”

 

He gets a sharp nod, then Hanzo pauses. “Don’t worry about me. We have an--”

 

He’s cut off by a sharp rap on the door, and McCree freezes. In a second, they both have their armour up. Vishkar’s Lodowick steps over and opens up the door, letting his junior stumble in, Amelie in tow. Tracer speaks, quick and low. “Intermission’s almost done. What do we do about her.”

 

Hanzo blinks. If Jesse hadn’t told him of Tracer’s undercover identity, he would have never even suspected that Lodowick was not a boy. He makes a mental note to praise Tracer when they get out of here as he murmurs, “I’ll take care it. Don’t worry. You two go on ahead. Look suitably chastised.”

 

Amelie tries to move slowly, trying to keep up her Widowmaker persona, but when she turns to look at him, he can read confusion on her face. He gives her a minute head shake and she nods back, turning to the sink to scrub at the stain on her dress. The two undercover agents slip out the door. As soon as they’re gone, she’s turning to him for an explanation.

 

Hanzo lets his face melt into an honest, happy smile. He scoots over to help clean the stain--both in case someone walks in, and because it was a rather nice dress. He does take the risk of murmuring to her, “Good news. We have allies in place.”


End file.
